Such a Beautiful Distortion
by Omega19x
Summary: Itachi wastes away to skin and bones. Madara approves.  COMPLETE


[Insert Disclaimer here: I do not have an eating disorder, nor do I want to trivialize those who struggle with one. But after an anonymous prompter posed the idea on Naruto_Meme, I couldn't help but do it justice.]

...

.

Itachi wished he'd never seen Shisui's bloated body wash up on the shore. It was a sight – the first of many – that would begin to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

His mother made onigiri that night. But Itachi already lost his appetite.

.

...

.

"That was the third time you've missed the target, Itachi." Madara scolded. "And your stamina is… somewhat lacking."

Itachi glanced up at his mentor. He immediately started to apologize, but Madara pressed his finger to his lips.

"No, it's all right… it's quite all right…" He took Itachi's chin in his hand and tilted his face into the light. So young, and yet, it was already so finely chiseled. The lines across his cheeks made him look thinner than he was, and Madara couldn't help but smile. "With your new eyes, you don't need to rely on physical skills anymore. You can defeat an army without even having to lift a finger."

"… Teach me."

"Oh, I will, Itachi. I will."

.

...

.

Itachi met up with Madara again on the outskirts of Amegakure. He was still in his armor. His face was bloody. His body was shaking. He looked as though he was on the verge of collapsing.

"What a long journey you've had…" Madara whistled. "You must be famished…"

Itachi whisked right past him.

"I'm not hungry…"

Madara smiled, following quickly behind him.

.

...

.

"Your new partner's rather strange." Kakuzu scoffed over a full bowl of rice.

"You're one to talk." Kisame jabbed back.

Itachi didn't notice anything past the apple in his hand – big, red, round… like sharingan, alive and blazing on his brother's face as he watched his entire world shatter around him. Itachi's stomach growled, and he couldn't hide the wave of nausea that followed.

"You might want to eat it instead of just look at it, kid."

Surprise gave way to embarrassment, which gave way to regret. He nodded slightly and took a few bites. Each one tasted like ash. And no matter how much he tried, he couldn't get Sasuke's face out of his mind.

.

...

.

Madara hated those cloaks. Itachi, however, was as fond of hiding inside them as he once did behind an ANBU mask.

But late at night, after the damned formless, shapeless blanket of black fabric had been flung carelessly into a corner, Itachi would stand before the mirror and scrutinize every mistake he ever made. Madara watched, but dared not interrupt.

It wasn't often that he got to really see such a slow, gradual loss of fine muscle tone. Itachi's pants were threatening to slide off his hips, drawing more attention to his thin chest and his even thinner waist. Madara started to wonder how long it would take before he could count ribs instead of counting sheep.

"I know you're there." Itachi finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "…What are you thinking about, sensei?"

Madara didn't hesitate.

"Just thinking about what a fine, disciplined shinobi you've become… That's all."

.

...

.

He was out of breath, exhausted and his right eye was throbbing. The battle hadn't lasted long, but the target simply wouldn't go down without a fight. Itachi was forced to use the new technique Madara had shown him – the amaterasu. The daimyo and his guards had never seen anything like it.

Neither had Kisame.

On the way back to base, he readily admitted, that despite his brute strength, he was still the weaker of the two. Unfortunately, all it took was a solid pat on the back and the stronger of the two found himself face down in the dust, his head spinning.

Itachi's back had a bruise the size of Kisame's hand for the next three weeks.

.

...

.

"Kisame is such a brute… So inconsiderate. To think, rare meat and bread on an Uchiha's delicate stomach…"

Madara held Itachi's hair back as he heaved beside the base of a tree. He could feel the boy's shoulder blades beneath the thick fabric of the Akatsuki cloak. They were sharper than he remembered.

"Might as well be poison…"

Itachi nodded, still clutching his aching stomach. He hadn't meant to eat very much, just a few bites. He was exhausted. His eyes were blurring. His entire body ached. Kisame kept staring at him with an expression that Itachi couldn't place. But whatever it was, it made Itachi feel a deep sense of shame.

Madara smiled. Of course, Itachi hardly touched the meal. But why contradict such a beautiful distortion?

.

...

.

"… I passed out again. During the mission." Itachi whispered shamefully. "We lost track of the nine-tails."

Madara listened, pulling his protégé into a safe, comfortable embrace. He let the boy rest his head on his chest, and slowly, soothingly, stroked his hair. It wasn't as shiny as it used to be. It was like the rest of his body, thin and brittle. But Madara liked it better that way.

"Kisame carried me back to base… over his shoulder like a hostage. Or a corpse…"

"There, there…" Madara petted. "You've been training hard, overtaxing yourself. With your low stamina, it's to be expected…"

Itachi stared at his feet. He was raised to be the perfect heir, the perfect shinobi, the perfect tool, and now, all he could think about was the empty promises he made to the brother he left behind and the never-ending wrenching of his usually empty stomach.

"And it's why we Uchiha always carry hyorogan." Madara continued. "They were a required part of your ANBU rations, were they not?"

"Soldier pills? Of… of course…"

"The stimulants will take away your exhaustion, give you energy, oh – and of course - curb the pangs of hunger…"

.

...

.

Madara was right, of course. Two hyorogan in the morning, and Itachi could keep up with his partner's pace all day. Another in the afternoon, and he was able to stay awake through the first watch. It was their little secret.

Kisame was pleased. If there was one thing he hated, more than anything else, it was dead weight.

Then, one night, he mistakenly grabbed Itachi by the wrist. As his thumb wrapped around his knuckles, he was sickened with the realization that weight, dead or not, was something his partner truly didn't have.

On the way through town, they stopped at a small cafe, and Kisame practically force-fed Itachi a stick and a half of dango. He threw it back up soon after, by instinct rather than by choice.

He wondered if Madara was still proud of him…

.

...

.

"You haven't eaten anything in days." Kisame muttered as he gorged on a freshly roasted fish. "You can't tell me you're not hungry."

"Yes, I can…" Itachi muttered tiredly. His back hurt. His knees hurt. His shoulders and wrists hurt.

"Yeah. And you'd be lying."

Itachi closed his eyes. He actually wasn't. As strange as it felt, he really wasn't hungry. He wasn't thirsty either.

When he opened them again, he was back at the base, in Madara's protective arms. There was a thin blanket draped over his chest and a damp washrag on his forehead. He had no recollection of how he got there. And he found himself far too weak to try and figure it out.

.

...

.

The winters in Amegakure were surprisingly brutal, especially for someone with so little to keep them warm.

Itachi shivered. His teeth chattered. Madara wrapped his arms around him tighter, pulling him farther beneath the quilt. He could feel every one of Itachi's ribs now, harsh and protruding below his sinking chest. Resting his hands on Itachi's tiny waist, he could feel the boy breathe. It was ragged, slightly labored, but nothing to be concerned about, he told his protégé a few days before. The sickness would clear with a little medicine and a few spoonfuls of broth.

Itachi was relieved. That was about all he was actually able to hold down anymore.

.

...

.

He couldn't fight. He couldn't run. Even with the hyorogan, getting out of bed was becoming a chore. More and more, Itachi found himself leaning on Madara for support – even for something as simple as standing.

Kisame left to hunt the four-tails alone.

.

...

.

Itachi rested his head in his mentor's lap, and Madara lovingly stroked Itachi's hollow cheek.

"I hear Sasuke is doing well at the Academy." Madara whistled and Itachi winced. He always seemed to have news about Sasuke, and no matter what it was, it still tore Itachi up inside. "First in his class, just like you were. Getting stronger and more powerful by the day…"

"As long as he's okay…" Itachi whispered as he coughed. His throat was sore. His voice was hoarse. He was so thin, Madara could actually see his heart flutter in his chest. "That's all that really matters to me…"

"He's all right, don't you worry…" Madara cooed, closing Itachi's eyes with his palm. "I'll take care of him… just like I take care of you…"

.

...


End file.
